


Warm

by ToxicPineapple



Series: the v3 kiddos are good friends [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Comfort more than hurt, Crying, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Good Friends, Hurt YEs comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I mean not everyone, Implied romantic inclinations between literally everyone, Mental Breakdown, Platonic Relationships, Stream of Consciousness, Y'all crusty, breakdown - Freeform, but u know, can't hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 21:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19776661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: A last ditch effort: he holds his breath, to stop the other thoughts, turns his head to look back at Kaito, that elbow on the table bumps his orange juice and it knocks over, spilling on the table. Shuichi thinks of a volcano erupting, feels the wetness on his pants as the smell of orange juice hits his nose, wonders just how one hundred percent real that one hundred percent real orange juice really is because oranges don’t smell like this, huh, and he doesn’t move right away, instead muses that pulp in orange juice is really a lousy idea and who thought of it? Stands out like dark blue in a sea of yellow on his dark pants, looks ugly like a bent thumb, feels sticky, like the back of his hand.---Shuichi has a bit of a breakdown but it's okay, they're there for him.





	Warm

The ice cubes in Shuichi’s orange juice make dull clinking noises as he sloshes around the bright liquid. A couple droplets are disturbed with the action and they slide down the back of his hand; raindrops on a car window. Idly he watches them drip off the side but by the time they reach the floor, there’s barely anything there, anyway, so he just scuffs the spot with his shoe and the problem is eliminated. His hand is sticky now, but it’s his own fault, and if he doesn’t focus on it, he won’t be bothered.

Easier said than done, but the screaming in his head right now isn’t a result of the orange juice.

As usual Kirumi’s loaded the cart in the front of the room with platters of food, she always outdoes herself. It was Kaede who requested that they self serve, rather than Kirumi bringing the food to them herself, and it’s a system that Shuichi is usually rather fond of, but at the moment he can’t be bothered to get up and fill a plate. Not a big deal, all things considered. He doubts anybody is reading too much into it, if they’re noticing it at all where they are at the front of the dining hall. He’s not much of a breakfast person, and on occasion Kaito will force him to eat a bite or two, but after years and years of skipping breakfast Shuichi’s stomach always folds in on itself when he eats too much.

It’s something, he supposes, he should talk to a doctor about, but at the moment medical assistance isn’t really at the forefront of his mind.

Of course there isn’t anything else at the forefront of his mind right now either, he’s really okay, he’s just stressed, is all, and there are little pinpricks in the corners of his eyes but they’re easy enough to ignore if he focuses really hard on something else. (Hence his fascination with the orange juice all of a sudden.) The inside of his mind is loud enough that if the room were the same he’d leave it to escape the cacophony but the thing with your mind is that you can’t exactly step out from it for a moment or two, so Shuichi is stuck, basically. And that’s fine too, it is, it just also isn’t.

Kaito returns to his seat, juggling a couple plates. He slides one over to Shuichi but the detective shakes his head. And Kaito is pushy, he’d usually just persist, but something in Shuichi’s expression must tell him to let up because he does, simply laughing and making a gesture that says  _ more for me, then!  _ It’s funny, and Shuichi wants to laugh, but he doesn’t, he just watches as his best friend digs into his food.

Kaede takes the spot to his right, a hand slipping from his shoulder to announce her presence and a warm honeysuckle smile touching pink lips. Light purple eyes are smiling and the pianist offers a piece of toast (Shuichi notices her fingernails are painted, pretty, maybe Rantaro did it) but he shakes his head again, mouthing that Kaito already offered. Kaede is respectful, and perceptive, and that smile wavers a little, turns more bitter like grapefruit, but her eyes are still kind and understanding. She dips a spoon in her cheerios, remarking brightly that they’re already kind of soggy, and digs in.

Shuichi can’t stand soggy cereal but Kaede manages to make everything look delightful. He wonders how she manages the optimism, decides that when he feels human again, he ought to ask.

Across from Kaito, Maki slips silently into a spot, an apple and a glass of water making more noise than she does when they touch the table. Shuichi’s eyes find the water; they track its movement as it’s disturbed from being placed on the wooden surface as it was. Small droplets escape there too but Maki’s skilled hands are both on the apple now, splitting it without a knife. It’s a party trick, or something, the kind of thing you only bring out to impress your friends, but Maki does it all without cracking a smile and crimson red eyes flicker over to Shuichi, one hand extending with an apple half resting in the center of her pale palm.

Another headshake and Maki nods, bites into the half herself but places the other back down on the table, telling him without saying to him that it’ll be there if he changes his mind. She must overestimate the force needed to really bite the apple because her teeth click together harder than Shuichi’s would were he doing the same but she barely bats her thick eyelashes as she moves the piece of apple between her molars, a pink tongue flicking out from between pale lips and capturing a spot where the apple still lingers.

Rantaro slides effortlessly into the seat directly in front of Shuichi, still speaking with Gonta (who sits elsewhere with Miu and Kiibo) over his shoulder before he turns his attention onto his friends. Macha eyes settle on Shuichi momentarily, heavy but light also like a down blanket, and the carefree smile isn’t lifted from his expression but the eyes turn more concerned as he asks if Shuichi plans on eating. The detective shakes his head and Rantaro hums out his acceptance of the fact; a gesture which Shuichi appreciates, though can’t find it in him to verbalise. The adventurer busies himself peeling a banana, laughing at Kaito when he says something about the atrocious way that Kokichi eats the fruit.

When the leader is mentioned he pops up, momentarily occupying the spot on Rantaro’s left, but only for a moment, darting forward and sticking almost half his body over the table. Cheshire cat eyes are grinning in Shuichi’s face and the detective jerks back in response to the lack of warning rather than the proximity. Kokichi is all actions, no words. He says lots of words, but they mean nothing, really, where his actions mean everything. He’s touchy, and perhaps that is how he shows his affection. Those same hands used to do so wrap around Shuichi’s and a case of mints are pressed between them. Kokichi claims they are his own invention and Shuichi simply  _ must  _ try them, and the detective has always been so terrible at saying no, he pops a mint into his mouth to appease the boy.

It’s a breath mint, there’s nothing special about it, but the flavour is cool and the screaming in his head quiets down the a buzz comparable to the level of conversation in the dining hall. (They’re one in the same, really.) Kokichi laughs, says that the mints are poisoned, but darts away before Shuichi can give them back. The detective pockets the case, using his tongue to move the mint from one side of his mouth to the other, tasting the imprint the candy has already left on the inside of his right cheek.

The seat where Kokichi just sat (stood?) in is quickly stolen by Himiko, and subsequently Tenko on her left, who complains that she doesn’t want to sit at a table with so many degenerate males. Still they both look at Shuichi’s plate- rather the lack thereof- and ask if he’s hungry; Himiko offers him some of her food, says Tenko gave her too much and  _ honestly what a pain I can’t eat all of this _ but Shuichi smiles, feeling a little bit more alive from the mint, and shakes his head. Angie pops up next to Kaede, beaming at Tenko, and the aikido master recoils with an odd look on her face, but says nothing mean when Angie perhaps violates her space in leaning across the table towards Shuichi.

Angie doesn’t offer food, though, she just asks Shuichi if he’s okay, says that her god is telling her he might not be. Her voice is church bells, loud and clear, and sunshine after weeks of rain, the sweet smell of the streets and the clean feeling in the air. Clear blue eyes blink in his face, perhaps sizing him up, and she can likely see right through his nod, but she accepts his response anyway, says that she trusts him.

It stings but it feels good, too, to be trusted by somebody so devout as Angie. Angie rests her head on Kaede’s shoulder as she talks and the pianist shifts to accommodate, complimenting the artist’s hair. To Shuichi’s left, Maki is trying unsuccessfully to teach Kaito her trick with the apple and Rantaro is unabashedly laughing at them, but he offers soft words of encouragement every so often regardless. It’s soft, they’re all soft, and they feel warm- even Himiko calling Tenko annoying in that fond irritated way she always does is familiar and it all makes Shuichi feel comfortable enough to sleep.

But he doesn’t, because closing his eyes makes the discord in his mind pop out more than anything. The mint has dissolved by now and his stomach churns, begs him for sustenance, so he pops another one, hoping to appease at least one part of his body. He can’t, it doesn’t really work well, and the lump in his throat warns him that not eating always makes him feel shitty but he doesn’t have enough energy.

The mint was probably a bad idea. Half melted ice cubes remind him of his orange juice and orange juice always tastes bitter when there is mint lingering on his tongue. Well, he hasn’t drank much of it, but he doesn’t have to drink the rest, anyway. Kaito will probably take it off his hands. He rests an elbow on the table, nudges the drink a bit away from him, and turns his head to watch his friends talk.

Rantaro is complimenting Maki, maybe about the apple thing, maybe something else, and she looks embarrassed but not the way she is when it’s Kaito. (But, Shuichi thinks, wouldn’t anyone be embarrassed at the receiving end of a compliment from Rantaro?) Her eyes roll around in her head like clock hands and a begrudging smile makes its way onto her lips. It’s rare, a diamond smile, much more rewarding than a smile from someone like Kokichi, who gives out smiles like he does casual touches. Kaito is laughing, adding on, and suddenly she’s giving off steam and punching him across the table, but not hard enough to hurt him.

On his right Tenko has begun to talk to all three of the girls sitting around her about something that Shuichi can’t really hear, but Kaede is clapping like she’s cheering on her favourite athlete so he supposes it’s exciting. Angie smiles and says something, makes Tenko’s eyes light up, then the black-haired girl seems to extinguish the expression like she doesn’t want to admit the artist gave her that kind of happiness. Himiko’s lip curls, a familiar expression on her, and her mouth opens- at this Tenko doesn’t bother to hide the enthusiasm in her eyes. It’s contagious, it’s a happy kind of plague, and sitting near them Shuichi is surprised he doesn’t feel the same way.

It would be simple, he thinks, to join in one of these interactions, he knows his friends would only ever support him but it’s not as easy as stepping into a new room, it’s stepping into a new room with your feet tied together, not allowed to fall, not allowed to stumble. Shuichi takes a breath, trying to regain control of his thoughts but failing, miserably, wonders if he’s really going to do this in front of everyone.

A last ditch effort: he holds his breath, to stop the other thoughts, turns his head to look back at Kaito, that elbow on the table bumps his orange juice and it knocks over, spilling on the table. Shuichi thinks of a volcano erupting, feels the wetness on his pants as the smell of orange juice hits his nose, wonders just how  _ one hundred percent real  _ that one hundred percent real orange juice really is because oranges don’t smell like this, huh, and he doesn’t move right away, instead muses that pulp in orange juice is really a lousy idea and who thought of it? Stands out like dark blue in a sea of yellow on his dark pants, looks ugly like a bent thumb, feels sticky, like the back of his hand.

“I’ll get paper towels.” Rantaro is up on his feet, and so is Kaito, grabbing things to keep them away from the spill, and Shuichi looks at the mints Kokichi gave him, hopes they’re not sticky or wet.

This would be the moment where he stutters out an apology but his brain has stopped working; all he can look at are the mints, all he can hear is the vague washed out sounds of his friends around him, working collectively to take care of the spill. Kaede is up too, telling Shuichi it’s alright, and Tenko says something about degenerate males but it’s just how she expresses fondness, he’s sure, it doesn’t matter to him because he can barely hear her. Angie’s high church bell voice says a few words, a few words that he can’t understand but that carry the warmth of kind ones, and Himiko’s contralto is smiling as she says it happens to her all the time. The glass his juice was in is gone, he registers, Maki takes it, and suddenly Rantaro is back, delicately using the towels to sop up the spill, rambling on about how he’ll take care of it and Shuichi doesn’t have to worry.

The detective gets to his feet, sluggish, because he figures he should, and blinks, struggling to find the energy to lift his gaze. There is a hand on his lower back now, his ears tell him it’s Kaito from the smooth saxophone sound of his voice, and he smells like Axe, which is gross, it is, but he doesn’t mind it because it’s Kaito. A flash of red and Maki is at Kaito’s shoulder, looking at him oddly, but Shuichi doesn’t know why and he avoids her gaze because he knows her red eyes weigh a thousand pounds. Another hand, on his shoulder, and he hears rather than sees that honeysuckle smile in Kaede’s words, but he doesn’t really  _ hear  _ her words, he just knows they’re there.

His friends, they’re all looking at him now, and their jubilance has gone away, and that’s his fault, isn’t it? He knows they don’t mind, he knows they put it all to the side because they care, but it’s hard to think about it that way when they were so ecstatic moments ago but now smooth Rantaro trips over himself to reassure him, and Kaito and Kaede are worried and Tenko and Maki are soft and Himiko’s eyes are on him, kind and quiet and understanding, and it’s not really fair, is it, that they would understand? The screaming in his head has reduced now to a high, high ringing, not like the ringing of Angie’s church bells but higher than that, like a ring made specifically to alarm, to disorient, to torment. Feels like how his ears ring after loud noises, or on the wrong side of the night when he shouldn’t be awake but should ceases to exist because he  _ is,  _ he is anyway, and he’s never heard it in front of them before.

“You okay, Saihara?” It’s a lower voice that says it, but Shuichi’s head tells him it could be anybody, even Angie’s first soprano or Tenko’s alto, and he doesn’t care to realise, because his eyes well in response to the question. Reassurances form and die on his tongue, an endless list of lies and denials that he’s used in the past to make sure his friends don’t worry about him, to tell them that he’s not only okay but he’s doing exceedingly well and it’s alright, it’s really alright, they don’t have to look at him anymore like he’s china and about to break.

Instead he shakes his head, sucks in a breath, and says nothing. Cracked lips part and air escapes, knocking oxygen out of his lungs, and it’s unfair because he didn’t even let in that much but now he can’t breathe, like a punch in the gut or a surprise culprit in a mystery novel he just couldn’t predict. Everything is so obscenely loud and he feels cold, despite the warm hands on his back and shoulders, and he wishes everything would stop for a minute so he can gather himself.

It doesn’t, but tears start falling instead, and when he sinks down to his knees Kaede and Kaito sink with him. Orange stickiness is disregarded as an arm finds itself around his lower back, palm resting on his waist and squeezing gently like an anchor keeping him from disappearing in a turbulent dark sea. Another hand, this one lighter, drapes over his shoulders like a blanket and piano fingers work out the knots there, resting on his neck and reminding him of hugs. His hands are massaged and they relax; the mints are put to the side and a pair of callused hands takes one of his, fingers intertwining, ruby red softer than usual and an unsmiling face promising resolution. His other hand is taken in one much softer than the one holding his left, fingers are long and graceful and joints are prominent but scarred, like they’ve done a lot, and through a veil of tears Shuichi sees bright colours, pretty shades that remind him of Kaede’s.

Another pair of arms around his chest, a head rested on the junction between his shoulder and his neck, more hands in his hair, working out knots. The scent of purple from his shoulder tells him Kokichi came over and the skilled leather in his hair is Kirumi’s. Others know, then, but that’s okay, they’ve all seen this much before. Sunshiny vocals are dimmed down, like sunglasses, and say calming, sweet things in tandem with a partially melted piece of metal, softer and warmer than usual. Voices he knows but doesn’t place, doesn’t try to. More hands, on his shoulderblades, his knee, cupping his face. Tears are wiped away with a handkerchief that smells fresh like water and another voice, this one confident and electric blue, tells him he’s okay. A smooth rasp somewhere to his left reminds him they’ve all been in this position before, and it’s alright to cry like this, and Shuichi realises that he’s started hearing words again rather than sounds, actually hears it when Miu says something crude and Korekiyo snaps at her. He laughs a little when she squeals but he thinks it might also be a sob.

Another hand on the shoulder Kokichi isn’t resting on, one that brushes Kaede’s and fingers intertwine as they both massage him there, and a tuba voice tells him that he’s not going to fall- or, maybe that’s not what Ryoma really says, but specifics don’t matter, because it makes Shuichi feel safe. A voice like computerised music tells him she’s a sympathetic crier and threatens to start crying with him, but the detective can only laugh again at that, deciding selfishly that that really wouldn’t be so bad. A large hand settles on the back of his neck and a gentle baritone asks if it’s okay, if he’s comfortable, and Shuichi nods, because it is, because all of their voices and their sounds are replacing the screaming in his mind, dulling it down until there is nothing left.

Eventually Shuichi loses track of all the arms and hands around him, closes washed out rain coloured eyes and forgets about the ugliness of his feelings and focuses on the warmth of all of them, sitting there with him and saying nothing but kind things, telling him nothing but that he’s okay, rubbing his back and his shoulders and his thighs and promising he’s safe, promising that he has as long as he needs, Chisa will understand, nobody is judging him, he’s alright, he’s alright.

Eyes open slightly, disregarding the way his eyelashes tangle in the tears he just shed. He moves a little, because his body is falling asleep, but Himiko makes a noise of discomfort and nuzzles into his chest more, so he stills to accommodate her. Kokichi notices that he’s real again and whispers something, presses a small kiss to Shuichi’s jaw, and the detective feels the imprint of his lips on his face even when they’re removed. The hands holding his, Rantaro and Maki’s, both squeeze tight, and Maki’s face turns uncertain like maybe she should let go but Shuichi holds fast to her, because he doesn’t want her to, and she doesn’t.

Kaede murmurs into his ear too, uses her other hand to brush remaining tears from his face, and Kaito fixes the positioning of his arm around his waist but neither of them move to pull away. Ryoma messes up his hair in a big brother gesture, and Shuichi sees his smile without looking, even though the tennis pro doesn’t bring it out often. Kirumi’s hands, which are still stroking his hair, eventually go still in favour of pressing the lightest of kisses to the crown of his head. The gesture makes him feel wanted. Angie has appeared at his side, too, resting her head on Kaito’s shoulder but her arm around Shuichi’s upper back, and she smiles when he meets her eyes, mumbling something about her god, and he feels a surge of warmth at the familiarity. Gonta has sat down, Kokichi’s hand intertwining with his, but his other has not moved from Shuichi’s neck, diligently holding him up.

There too are Tsumugi and Kiibo, who Shuichi heard but didn’t feel, and their hands are both near Himiko, resting in his lap. Tsumugi gives a warm smile, and Kiibo blinks idly, the two of them both tilting their heads when Shuichi looks over. Korekiyo, Miu, and Tenko are sitting nearby, at the table Shuichi has long since abandoned, perhaps out of a lack of desire for physical contact, or maybe just because there is no room. Either way, when he looks at them, they all smile- or, at least, golden crayon eyes smile when Shuichi meets them; he can’t see Korekiyo’s mouth under his mask.

A large variety of smells and auras are mingling with everyone sitting here but together it feels like sitting in the middle of a cloud, floating in the sky with nothing but love to carry you. His tongue still tastes like mint, and he’s hungry, actually, really hungry, but for now he closes his eyes again and rests his head on top of Kokichi’s, feels soft hair under his cheek and smiles a bit when Kaede kisses his forehead; laughs even when the tickle of Kaito’s goatee tells him that the astronaut did the same on the other side of his face.

It’s awkward, it’s intimate, but it’s everything to him, and it’s so warm, it’s piling on blankets after spending hours in the snow, it’s a cat in your lap and a mug of hot chocolate burning your hands, and Shuichi is real again, the world exists, and his mind is quiet. Completely and utterly at peace, Shuichi releases a breath and lets his mind shut off.

**Author's Note:**

> hhh y'all be out here acting like the v3 cast wouldn't be such supportive friends
> 
> they all have issues n they know Shuichi is sensitive ;u; giving him lots of soft hugs dsjfabjkds
> 
> in other news this style is one I don't typically use anymore but I've fallen back in love with it again because,,,, metaphor. hhh ajsdfjbajdk so if you like it I would check out a piece I posted on my alt, PoisonousSpikyFruit, called "he hopes it doesn't hurt." but uhh tw for suicide (but no sad endings we're against those here)
> 
> ahsdfbabs I hope you liked this??? honestly I should really be working on Life of the Spotless rn but like a dumbass I'm just writing more fucking ficlets
> 
> do I ship Shuichi with all these people except Tenko because she's a fucking lesbian? yes I do piss off ajbfajadkjbf nothing and EVERYTHinG in this fic is canon case closed
> 
> wow this gave me a lot of feels writing it hope u enjoyed lmfao xd epic gamer moment
> 
> comment if you wanna :D


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